


you're gonna have it your way or nothing at all

by biblionerd07



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (again), Asshole Best Friends, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Road Trips, Suicidal Thoughts, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7791682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky aren't really much of a Steve and Bucky anymore these days. Steve's sure it's because Bucky doesn't see himself as the same guy who used to love Steve. In a desperate attempt to prove him wrong, Steve begs Bucky to go on a road trip together, the way they used to dream about, and does his best to remind Bucky of who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're gonna have it your way or nothing at all

**Author's Note:**

> This fic went through quiiiiite a few changes. I first got the idea and started writing it way before Civil War came out, and then I had to decide to incorporate the things from Civil War or not. I decided to do it, but there were some things that just had to be handwaved. Forgive me.
> 
> I tagged for suicidal thoughts just to be safe, but it's really minor. It's less conscious suicidal thoughts and more Steve being Steve.
> 
> I'm lucky enough to get some truly amazing artwork for this fic!!! eyesoffelina's artwork is [here](http://eyesoffelina.tumblr.com/post/149679437069/this-is-for-youre-gonna-have-it-your-way-or) and jhaitea is [here!](http://jhaitea.tumblr.com/post/149645842036/he-wasnt-talking-about-his-morals-necessarily) Thank you both so much!!!

Steve walked by Sam’s door, stopping in the doorway when he saw Sam packing a suitcase. “Did we get a call?”

Sam went right on rolling his clothes. “No,” he said carefully, and the care in his voice tipped Steve off. He wasn’t going to like what Sam was going to say next. “I’m going away for a little while.”

“Going away?” Steve echoed. Sam gave up the pretense of packing and turned around to look Steve in the eye.

“T’Challa asked me to come back to Wakanda. It’ll be at least two weeks, maybe longer.”

Steve blinked. “Oh. Well, is it a mission? Should I bring my—?”

“Me, Steve,” Sam cut him off, and Steve heard the unspoken other half of that sentence. _Not you_.

“Oh,” he repeated. He forced his face not to change. He thought he and T’Challa had started up a friendship, sort of, or at least the beginnings of one, while Bucky was in cryo. Steve hadn’t necessarily sat at his bedside (tankside?) day and night or anything like that, but he’d stayed in Wakanda much longer than he’d needed.

Maybe longer than he’d been welcome.

Sam sighed a little. “It’s not you personally,” he assured Steve. “You just tend to bring, you know. Trouble.”

“Do you mean Bucky?” Steve asked bluntly.

Sam laughed. “I didn’t say it. You did.”

Steve put his hands on his hips, not laughing. “So, what, T’Challa said you could come but Bucky couldn’t, and you knew I wouldn’t come without Bucky?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Believe it or not, not _everything_ ’s a conspiracy against you two. You’re just sort of a hot target right now and T’Challa’s having enough trouble getting public favor back to being less isolationist after what happened to his father.”

“You’re a wanted fugitive,” Steve pointed out. He wasn’t even mad, not really, not anymore. Nothing Sam said was untrue.

“Yeah, but I’m also not a giant white dude with shiny teeth of freedom and hair like amber waves of grain.”

“Amber is brown.”

Sam waved a hand. “But you get what I mean. I can blend in a little better in Wakanda.”

“Oh,” Steve said for the third time. “Okay.”

Sam sat down on his bed, looking at Steve. “Are you going to be okay here without me?”

Steve huffed. “I did survive _most_ of my life without you, you know.”

“Yeah, and look how well that went,” Sam shot back. “I just mean…” He shrugged.

Steve knew what he meant. The three of them—Sam, Steve, and Bucky—had come back to New York after Bucky came out of cryo, trigger-free and ready to be alive again. T’Challa had safe-houses all over the world and offered them a place to stay while the Accords still hung over their heads. Wanda had chosen one in Russia, feeling more at home across the Atlantic. Clint and Scott had gone with her, Clint, with his family in tow, because he’d been to Russia before, and Scott because he _couldn’t_ bring his daughter and didn’t want to stay in the US, where he was close to her but not close enough.

Tony probably knew the three of them were here, rattling around a four-bedroom bungalow in Rockaway Beach, but so far he’d let them be. Steve didn’t doubt Tony had some kind of trace on them. They did their best not to leave the house without covering up, but Steve wouldn’t underestimate Tony. Or maybe he didn’t know; T’Challa had technology and money Tony could only _dream_ of.

It had been two months, and Steve was almost starting to sleep more than an hour at a time without waking up, was almost ready to believe they could stay for a little while. But he was still crawling out of his skin, because he and Bucky…weren’t really he and Bucky anymore.

_That_ was what Sam meant.

“We’ll be fine,” Steve said in his old bond-selling voice, pasting on what Bucky used to call his apple-pie smile.

Sam looked unimpressed. “Christ, Steve.” His voice was tinged with annoyance. “Do you ever quit with the martyr thing?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Bucky muttered as he walked past. Steve and Sam both jumped a little. Bucky and Sam shared an exasperated, knowing look around Steve’s shoulder and Steve, ridiculously, felt left out.

Once upon a time, Bucky would have added that it was because Steve was Irish and Catholic. He used Steve’s heritage as an explanation for all things unpleasant about Steve, and a few of the pleasant things, too, like the way Steve blushed— _so pretty_ , Bucky used to murmur into Steve’s neck—and his pale, pale skin— _like porcelain, so perfect even when you cover it with scars ‘cause you’re an idiot_.

He never said it around Sarah, of course; Steve was Irish, technically, but he was American, really. Sarah, though—Sarah was Irish in all ways, and Bucky would never disrespect her with a joke, even teasing as it was. It was the same reason he called Steve a dumb mick at least twice a week but knocked Dudley Smith out cold for saying the same thing.

Now, though, Bucky didn’t say anything about Steve or his Irish blood or his Catholic guilt, and it left Steve’s stomach twisting. Without Sam there to goad Bucky, to annoy him and get him to prank back when his eyes went hollow and his face went blank and Steve’s heart clogged his throat, Steve didn’t know what they were going to do.

But he couldn’t hold Sam back, so he squared his shoulders and waved goodbye as Sam left, whisked away in style in one of T’Challa’s endless supply of cars, even here continents away from the land of his sovereign. Bucky watched silently, in the same room but not very present. And then Sam was gone, and it was just the two of them. Steve held in a sigh.

“Um,” he ventured. “I’m gonna go draw in the living room.”

Bucky blinked at him a few times and Steve started to feel foolish. He huffed and walked away. He was trying to be polite and acknowledge Bucky’s presence, but he wasn’t going to waste his time if Bucky wasn’t going to return the favor.

After about five minutes of Steve furiously sketching Sam’s retreating back—making the lines darker than necessary, going a little overboard on the sharpness of the angles—he realized Bucky was in the room with him. And he couldn’t help it. As soon as he knew Bucky was there, he had to look up. It was like there was some kind of magnet in his head that was attracted to Bucky’s face.

Bucky was hesitant. He was inching toward the couch, but he paused when Steve looked up. He looked a little guilty and Steve felt like someone punched him. Bucky was afraid to even be in the same room as him. Jesus, what was he _doing_?

Steve cleared his throat. “You can sit here,” he offered, scooting over to make room. He’d flopped angrily and spread across the entire thing dramatically. He wanted to roll his eyes at himself.

Bucky seemed to deliberate for a minute, but he came closer, slowly, and perched on the edge of the seat. Steve fought his natural inclination to press up to Bucky, a habit created from years of closeness, of stealing body heat or lending his own, of tipping his head so Bucky could whisper into his good ear, of gauging Bucky’s body language to see if he’d be going home with his date or Steve, of touching each other easily and always.

But now there was too much pain and guilt between them. Steve looked at Bucky and saw his own shortcomings, saw his failure to grab Bucky’s hand or to go look for him afterward, saw what HYDRA had done to him and the empty left sleeve that was Steve’s fault, and he knew Bucky looked at him and saw the blood and bruises and wounds he’d left in his wake, saw how he’d almost killed Steve, literally, and broken his heart, metaphorically, saw memories he still hadn’t fully recovered.

“I’m going to—” Bucky cut himself off, hummed a little, and started over. “Do you mind if I turn on the TV?” He sounded awkwardly polite, like his mother was standing behind him with a tight hand on his shoulder reminding him to use his manners.

“No, go ahead,” Steve answered, just as stilted.

Steve pretended to keep sketching, but he watched as Bucky tried to settle on something to watch. The screen filled with an earnest man declaring his feelings to a beautiful woman. Bucky changed the station. A couple kissing. Pass. A boxing match. Pass. A robot. Quick pass, with a half-glance at Steve. He finally settled on Dog Cops. It became apparent in about two minutes that they’d both already seen this episode. Bucky shifted a little, restlessly, but didn’t change the channel again.

Steve went back to sketching, for real this time. After about ten minutes, Bucky started flipping channels again. Commercial. Commercial. That Frozen movie. Commercial.

“Can you just pick something?” Steve finally burst out. Bucky narrowed his eyes a little but didn’t stop searching.

“I already saw that Dog Cops.”

“What’s wrong with the five hundred other things you’ve passed?” Steve snipped. He could see the muscle in Bucky’s cheek stand out as he clenched his teeth.

“I don’t want to watch any of those,” Bucky said tightly.

“What was wrong with the robots? You love science fiction.”

“Don’t want to watch robots.”

“Since when?” Steve demanded. “Robots are your fav—”

“Maybe since I basically got turned into one and then another one almost killed you!” Bucky finally exploded. Steve snapped his mouth shut and the only sound between them was a man on the screen making chicken noises. Bucky changed the channel.

 

“But I don’t _want_ to,” Bucky was whispering furiously into the phone when Steve came around the corner. Steve had no idea who Bucky could be talking to. Sam? T’Challa? Who else did Bucky even know? T’Challa had given them all phones, not even the latest tech from Wakanda but more advanced than their old Stark phones by at least a year, and international lines meant nothing to them. “Fine,” he snapped, then hung up.

They’d been tiptoeing around each other for two days and they were both miserable. Steve was being good and hadn’t texted Sam at all except to make sure he’d gotten to Wakanda safely, but things were tense.

“Was that Sam?” Steve asked, keeping his voice light and neutral.

“No,” Bucky said.

“T’Challa?”

“No.”

Steve waited, but Bucky didn’t offer anything else. Steve opened his mouth, but then changed his mind and closed it. Bucky took a breath, but then he didn’t say anything. Things had never been so uncomfortable between them, not even after the first time they fooled around together when they were barely out of their teens and couldn’t look each other in the eye for an hour.

Bucky took another deep breath. “I’m. I am. Well. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Steve just stared at him for a minute, and Bucky hunched his shoulders a little. “Sorry for what?” Steve asked. Bucky bit his lip and gulped a little.

“I’m not easy to live with.”

Steve cracked a grin. “Never have been, Buck. At least you’re not always complaining about me needing to clean up after myself like you used to.”

Frustration flicked over Bucky’s face. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

Bucky made a face. “Compare me.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Steve admitted. Bucky made a noise in the back of his throat.

“I’m sorry we’re not…whatever we were anymore. But why do you have to compare me to back then?”

Steve got stuck on one part of the sentence. “Bucky.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want you to feel pressured about all that. But I—” He licked his lips. “I still love you.” He didn’t expect reciprocation, really, but he needed to say it, needed Bucky to hear it. Bucky shook his head slowly.

“You don’t even know me,” he said softly.

That blew Steve away. “What are you talking about? Of course I know you. I know you better than anyone else in the world.”

Bucky rubbed his eyes. “No, Steve. You _knew_ me. You knew me seventy years ago. You don’t know me now. I’m not the same.”

“You’re still you, Buck,” Steve argued.

“I’m _not_ ,” Bucky protested. This wasn’t the panic from the hellicarrier as he denied knowing Steve; this was quiet but steady, the same way he’d told Steve it was him who’d done all the things that happened as the Winter Soldier. “I’m not the same.”

Steve wasn’t sure when he’d grabbed Bucky’s hand, but he must have done so unconsciously. He squeezed Bucky’s fingers and felt his breath catch when Bucky squeezed back, tentatively. Was this Bucky’s hang up? This was why Bucky was dancing around him—because he thought he was a different person than Steve’s best friend, his best guy?

Well. That was easy to fix.

“Please, Buck,” Steve whispered.

“Please what?”

“Can’t we try?” Steve was practically begging now but couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed about it. How could he, if it gave him back Bucky? Bucky looked away.

“How?” He asked. Steve felt like there was a balloon in his chest. Bucky wasn’t saying no. He wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t refusing. Bucky just needed to realize he was still himself, he was the same Bucky as before. Steve could prove that to him.

“Let’s go on a road trip,” Steve said, the words tripping over each other in his haste to get them out. They’d always wanted to go on a road trip, to see the country, to be free. “Just us. You and me. Anywhere we want.” T’Challa had promised the car he’d provided for them was completely innocuous, so it wouldn’t be a problem taking that. They’d probably be safer on the road, all told, moving around and not staying cooped up like sitting ducks.

Bucky looked at him for a long time, still holding onto Steve’s hand, and Steve held his breath. He could feel the threat of tears in his eyes. Finally, Bucky nodded, and Steve couldn’t help the grin that split his face.

“Alright, Rogers,” Bucky said, obviously aiming for playful and only missing the corresponding tone by centimeters. “Take me on a road trip.”

 

Sam was skeptical but cautiously supportive of the idea when Steve told him on the phone later that day.

“It sounds good, I guess,” he admitted. “But do you have a plan for if T’Challa’s car gets made?” Steve heard an indignant voice in the background that was probably T’Challa protesting that.

“I guess we could ride the rails like hobos. That was our original plan when we were kids.”

“I’m not sure it really works that way anymore,” Sam pointed out. “But okay.”

“I don’t know how long we’ll be gone,” Steve said apologetically. “I feel bad that we won’t say goodbye to you.”

Sam laughed a little. “It’s not like you’re leaving forever, Steve. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Right,” Steve agreed. “Sometimes you just don’t know when…” He trailed off and Sam made a sympathetic little sound.

“I know,” he said gently, and then Steve felt a little guilty because Sam _did_ know, knew all too well. “But it’s okay. I’ll see you when you get back. Or when _I_ get back. If you guys aren’t there I’ll probably just stay here longer.”

“You sure you don’t want to come with us?” Steve asked. He wasn’t even asking because Sam acted as their buffer. He just hadn’t gone more than two weeks without seeing Sam since he’d met him.

Sam snorted. “Hell no. I have been stuck in a car with Barnes for long enough to last my whole _life_. He chews too loud, he kicks the seat, and he gets drool on the seat when he falls asleep. _No_ thank you. I’ll stay here in Wakanda and play Cat and Bird with T’Challa.”

Steve graciously didn’t point out the fondness in Sam’s voice when he mentioned all of Bucky’s shortcomings. Instead, he scoffed. “Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

Sam laughed in his ear, and it made Steve grin. “Well, you didn’t think he was giving us all this stuff out of the goodness of his heart, did you? Someone’s gotta keep the daddy part of the sugar daddy true.” The cadence of T’Challa’s voice rang out in the background again, but Steve couldn’t make out the words.

Steve wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think I want to pick apart that sentence.”

“No, I think you’re too busy wanting to pick apart other things.”

“Sam!”

He was laughing in Steve’s ear again, and Steve was glad to end the call on a happy note.

“How does Niagara Falls sound?” Steve asked Bucky as they drove out of the city. Bucky looked at him askance and then gave a tiny little smile.

“Alright,” he said, and Steve smiled back.

Seven hours was an awfully long time to be in the car when they weren’t facing a mission and/or certain death, so they agreed to go halfway that night and get up and go the next morning. Even still, three and a half hours was a long time. Bucky had an intense stillness these days, could sit in one spot and not move for hours, but Steve was restless. Driving the car didn’t take enough brain power to keep his mind occupied. He was bored.

“Want to play the alphabet game?” Steve asked. Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“The alphabet game?”

“Yeah, you know, when you point out letters on the signs. Remember?”

Sam had taught them the alphabet game on their drive through Germany in that ridiculously small car. It hadn’t exactly dissipated the tension, but it had certainly added a surreal quality to everything.

“Oh, look, A!” Steve said.

Bucky didn’t say anything for a long time, and Steve thought maybe he’d decided the game was too dumb to play, or he didn’t want the reminder of everything that happened, or he was annoyed with Steve. Just getting in the car together wasn’t going to erase the last two months of barely speaking. Steve’s shoulders slumped a little. This was going to be a long drive in awkward silence. Another five minutes went by. They passed a sign for a bed and breakfast.

“B,” Bucky said quietly.

The most eventful part of stopping for the night at the halfway point was Bucky checking the room before he’d let Steve in. It irritated Steve a little—Bucky had always been protective, but he’d never acted like Steve was too weak or incompetent to take care of himself, not even when Steve was small. They used to storm HYDRA bases together and Bucky despaired over Steve’s willingness to fling himself into danger, but he never stopped Steve. But every time Steve tried to come in the room and help, Bucky snapped at him and started over. Steve didn’t even point out that Bucky didn’t have his metal arm anymore to take the brunt of whatever onslaught he was afraid they were going to face. Steve felt ashamed for even thinking it.

Bucky finally declared the room safe and let Steve in. He disappeared into the bathroom and Steve face-planted into one of the twin beds. He fell asleep before Bucky came back out, and Bucky must have been quiet, as he was so capable of these days, because Steve slept all the way until morning.

Food was a bit of an issue. They’d packed a lot of their own, because Bucky struggled with eating food he didn’t see prepared in front of him. Sam indulged him more than Steve thought was necessary—was he really still worried about Sam or Steve poisoning him?—but Sam was, after all, the mental health professional, and Steve was a guy hiding his own depression and PTSD and not doing it well, based on the printouts Sam kept nonchalantly leaving on the coffee table when Steve was sitting on the couch.

“Do you want to stop at a grocery store and pick up some things before we see the falls?” Steve asked. They had a few more sandwiches, but it was another three and a half hours until they got to Niagara Falls and they’d both definitely eat them on the way and be left with nothing after seeing the falls. Bucky had always been very particular about knowing he’d have something to eat after a big day when they were kids.

Bucky shook his head. “Waterfalls first, please.”

“Really?” Steve asked.

“Never seen ‘em before,” Bucky pointed out. “Want to hurry and see ‘em.”

“But you’ll probably be hungry when we finish up there,” Steve said slowly. Bucky got almost unbearably grumpy when he was hungry. He hadn’t gone hungry often as a child, the way Steve had. He’d gotten a little better during the war, since they hadn’t had enough rations as a general rule, but it still made him peevish. Steve didn’t want to have to deal with that in a confined space.

Bucky shrugged. “So I’ll wait.” They started walking out to the car, duffel bags slung over their shoulders.

“We could just stop somewhere on our way back. Fast food or something,” Steve tried to suggest lightly. Bucky’s shoulders hunched, every line of his back tensed, and Steve blew out a breath. “Never mind,” he amended hastily.

“I just…” Bucky sounded like he was mumbling under his breath a little, not stopping and not turning to look at Steve. How was Steve supposed to hear him?

“Just what?” Steve asked, a little sharper than he’d meant. Bucky’s shoulders didn’t relax.

“I just can’t,” he said louder.

“It’s fine,” Steve promised, even though it wasn’t all that fine. “I’m sure there’s plenty of stores around up there. It’s a huge tourist attraction.” They got in the car.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said. It was the second time in as many days Bucky had apologized to him, and it was starting to kind of freak Steve out. They did not, historically, do apologies. They got mad and yelled at each other and spent a few hours apart, and then they never mentioned the offense again. They didn’t really hold grudges, but they didn’t talk about things, either. Steve just sat there for a minute, unable to start the car.

“It’s fine,” Steve repeated awkwardly. “I’m not—uh, mad.”

“I know I’m paranoid and it makes things…difficult, and I’m sorry I can’t be normal.” That was one of the longest sentences Bucky had said in a long time, not counting expletives. Steve couldn’t help but reach over and squeeze Bucky’s shoulder.

“You get to be paranoid after everything you’ve been through. I don’t mind.”

Bucky snorted. “Okay.”

“What?” Steve asked, finally turning the key in the ignition. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Bucky asked innocently, pointing left toward the way out of the parking lot when Steve put on the right blinker.

“Why’d you say _okay_ like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like…” Steve waved a hand wildly, stopped at a red light. “ _Okay_ ,” he imitated Bucky’s tone.

“All I said was okay, Steve.”

“You had a _tone_.”

“You’re right, I did have a tone. That usually happens when people speak.”

Steve grumbled, checking over his shoulder before switching lanes to get back on the freeway. “A rude tone.”

Bucky made a face. “That’s not very descriptive, Cap, could you try a different adjective?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “A disdainful tone, is that better?”

Bucky made his eyes go wide. “Golly, that’s a big word. You must be real smart, mister.”

Steve laughed despite himself, and he heard Bucky huffing a quiet little laugh beside him, too. Steve realized, in a painful rush, he couldn’t remember the last time he laughed with Bucky, really laughed and not just an oh-God-we’re-going-to-die-remember-that-awful-date laugh. Well, he _could_ , but it was on a snowy mountainside before zip-lining onto a train. In the two months Bucky had been back, Steve and Bucky had not joked and laughed together even once.

It made his throat tight, and to his right, Bucky looked a little alarmed. “Hey, what?” He asked. “You _are_ smart, you know that, right?”

Steve gave a watery chuckle. “I just—” He bit his lip. If Bucky could talk about feelings, Steve could, too. Probably. “Feels nice to laugh with you.”

“Laughter is the best medicine,” Bucky said sagely.

Steve snorted. “Where’d you hear that?”

“It’s science, Rogers. My actual doctor told me that in Wakanda.”

“She did not,” Steve protested. “There is no way your doctor told you that.” Bucky’s doctors were pretty firm in thinking medicine was the best medicine.

“Excuse me, yes, she did.” Bucky sounded affronted.

“Which doctor?” Steve challenged.

“You don’t know her,” Bucky said.

Steve made a face. He knew everyone in T’Challa’s medical research facility. A few of them had made comments about his persistence. “What’s her name?”

“Promises,” Bucky told him, completely straight faced.

“Promises?” Now Steve was second-guessing himself. It didn’t seem like a Wakandan name, but Bucky seemed so sure. “What’s her first name?”

“Dove.”

“Dr. Dove Promises?” Steve asked, puzzled. He was 90% sure Bucky was pulling his leg, but Bucky’s poker face was so good now it was hard to be totally certain. Until, of course, Bucky burst out laughing. He fished around in his pocket for a second and handed something to Steve.

It was a small square. **DOVE PROMISES** was emblazoned on the foil. There was chocolate inside, and Bucky took the foil from him and smoothed it out before handing it back. **TAKE TIME FOR YOU** , it advised him. He gave Bucky a flat look and Bucky started laughing again. Steve couldn’t help how warm the sound made his chest feel.

“I read it on one of these,” Bucky admitted.

“Where did you find these?” Steve asked around the small square of chocolate. It was tiny. He could probably fit at least twelve of them in his mouth at once.

“Natasha,” Bucky shrugged and then grinned conspiratorially. “She’s surprisingly invested in the promises on them.”

“Natasha, huh,” Steve echoed faintly, reaching up a hand to rub his forehead. “Wow. I mean, I guess—I didn’t know you and Natasha were, uh, friends.”

Bucky’s smile evaporated. “Yeah, well. We are.”

“You talk to her on the phone a lot?” Steve asked casually. Steve did, occasionally, when she called him first, because she trashed her phone every two or three weeks. She hadn’t taken one of T’Challa’s safe-houses. Or maybe T’Challa hadn’t offered. Steve wasn’t sure. Bucky examined the side of his face for a minute, because Steve wouldn’t turn his head to make eye contact. He needed to keep his eyes on the road, after all.

“Maybe,” Bucky said, all defensiveness and tense shoulders.

“Where’d you even meet her?” Steve certainly hadn’t seen her since they’d been here, and for at least a month before Bucky woke up.

“Communist Russia,” Bucky spat, folding his arms and looking out the window. Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. He had no idea what he’d done wrong, but everything was two steps forward, about forty steps back. He missed Bucky’s easy teasing from a minute ago.

“Got any more of those chocolates?” He asked lightly. Bucky glanced at him out of the corner of his eye before reaching into the backseat for his duffel and producing a whole bag. “Want to see how many I can fit in my mouth at once?” Steve asked. He was mostly asking for the joke he knew Bucky was going to make.

“Sure,” Bucky said. “Bet it won’t be more than eight.”

Steve waited for the punchline, for the crack about just how wide Steve could open his mouth—Bucky never missed an opportunity to make Steve blush, and he certainly never missed an opportunity to bring up Steve sucking his dick.

Nothing.

“Please,” Steve scoffed. “I can get my mouth pretty big.”

Still nothing. Bucky just raised an eyebrow and started unwrapping chocolate squares and handing them to Steve. Steve fought a sigh. Maybe Bucky didn’t remember how to joke. Maybe he just didn’t want to bring up sex.

 

There were a lot of people at Niagara Falls. Steve and Bucky both donned baseball caps and turned up their collars, being careful to keep their faces turned away from security cameras. Maybe most people wouldn’t be able to spot some of the more discreet cameras, but they had no trouble. Hopefully Bucky wouldn’t draw too many stares with his missing arm; usually people didn’t know how to react, so their eyes just slid past him.

Steve tried to watch Bucky carefully from the corner of his eye, making sure he wasn’t too tense about the crowd. They walked up the path and Steve dug in his pocket for some quarters for the viewfinder. He didn’t have any change.

“Don’t got two nickels to rub together, huh?” Bucky teased. Steve laughed a little.

“I got two credit cards,” he said. He couldn’t use them, of course. Even if Tony was letting things go, at least for the moment, the US government probably wouldn’t. T’Challa had managed to get cash for them from Steve’s and Sam’s bank accounts, probably through some less-than-legal and definitely not-with-the-Accords means, but the credit cards would be way too easy to trace.

“Big wig.” Bucky pulled some coins out of his own pocket and fed the machine. He gestured at Steve to look first. It made Steve grin.

“Thanks, Buck.”

They looked, and it was all well and good, but they decided to get closer. Bucky gave a handful of change to a few kids who were standing there.

“Let your sister look first,” he told the older boy. The little girl’s face lit up and Steve found himself wanting to cry a little bit. He shoved his hands in his pockets and swallowed hard. “What?” Bucky asked him as they walked.

Steve shrugged. “Sometimes you seem like a pretty nice guy, Bucky Barnes.”

“Sometimes?” Bucky asked, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, most of the time you’re busy being a huge jerk.”

Bucky laughed, not just a huff of air but an actual laugh, and Steve’s stomach swooped embarrassingly.

“Can’t we just blame it on the brainwashing?” Bucky joked wryly, and the swooping abruptly ended and his stomach dropped instead. But Bucky was smiling and he was teasing and Steve knew about gallows humor, he did, so before the grin could fade from Bucky’s face Steve made his voice steady and said,

“Sure, but Captain America’s not supposed to lie.”

Bucky laughed again and bumped his shoulder into Steve’s, and it kept him warm despite the mist in the air around them.

They obediently stayed on the path, even though Steve wanted to get closer. It was so _loud_ , especially with enhanced hearing. It sounded like—well, it sounded like tons of water rushing and crashing over rocks. The spray was a little chilly, April not quite the warmest month, and there was a wind roaring around them, too, that made Steve shiver a little.

They just stood there, staring up at all this water, and Steve thought about how it would feel to fall into that. It happened on movies, sometimes, people going over the edge of waterfalls. People had gone over _this_ waterfall. Steve remembered hearing about some of them when he was a kid—two people did it on his birthday, a few years apart. One lived. One didn’t, but his pet turtle did. Steve had remembered about the turtle for a long time, had wondered what the turtle thought of it all.

Steve knew about water rushing in around you—cold, shocking your system, pounding into your skin and knocking the breath from your lungs. Water could feel like a punch to the gut if you hit hard enough. He hadn’t fallen into rocky water, not the two times he’d accidentally fallen into significant bodies of water, but once had been solid ice on top and once had been full of airplane parts and burning wreckage. All the times he’d fallen on purpose, well, the water had always been calm, but it still left bruises and knocked the wind out of him.

He wondered if he’d survive going down Niagara Falls. He thought he would, probably; he’d survived getting hit by a vibranium arm, and surely that was harder than rocks. Maybe his weight would make a difference. It wouldn’t be hard to try, not really; there was only a little guardrail in front of him, and it would be easy to jump over it, swan dive right through the mist and into the water.

“Let’s go,” Bucky said beside him, teeth chattering a little.

“You cold?” Steve asked, unable to tear his gaze from the water pounding over the rocks. It would hurt, that water slamming into him. He knew it would. Would it hurt bad enough to knock him out?

“Let’s go,” Bucky repeated. He had to raise his voice a little to be heard over the sound of the water and the wind. Steve looked at him, saw him looking a little pale, his hair starting to curl around his face from the water in the air, and nodded.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said. He didn’t turn around and look back at the falls as they made their way past the tourists and families hiking up the path.

 

Steve braced himself for Bucky to be sullen when they got back down the path, because it was late afternoon by then and their sandwiches were hours ago. And he looked off, somehow, still pale and his brow all furrowed like it had been up at the waterfall. Steve wondered if he’d killed someone at a waterfall once and Steve didn’t know about it.

“Do you want to stop at the visitor’s shop?” Steve asked, mostly just pushing his luck but also thinking it might be nice to pick up some souvenirs for Sam and Natasha. Natasha, Steve had learned, loved collectibles from American landmarks, though he wasn’t totally sure how they’d get something to her. He didn’t know where she was. Sam just liked fridge magnets.

But then, of course, if they got gifts for Sam and Natasha, they’d need to get gifts for Wanda and Scott and Clint and Laura, and now Clint and Laura had _three_ kids and they couldn’t leave them out. They should probably get something for T’Challa. Did kings like decorative mugs?

None of this, he realized, was going to happen, because he’d given Bucky the choice and Bucky would choose to go find food over something as ridiculous as a tourist souvenir shop. Everything would be overpriced and poorly made, probably by some poor child in a sweatshop, and none of it was _useful_.

That was something that had taken Steve a while to get used to—having things for no purpose other than to have them. He hadn’t really had _stuff_ before the ice. He’d had necessities. The closest things he’d had to useless things were his drawing supplies, but even those weren’t useless. He used them to draw comics for the newspaper sometimes, or just to keep his art sharp so that every new season the butcher would still ask him to come do a window display. He used them to get paid. He’d barely had toys as a child; his mother often made him homemade things, little crudely-carved action figures from an old chair that had broken and was being used for firewood, a blanket thrown over the kitchen table to use as a fort.

“Sure,” Bucky cut into Steve’s reminiscing. “I want to get a postcard.”

“Who you gonna send it to?” Steve asked, not rudely, just curious.

Bucky shrugged. “No one. Just gonna keep it and look at the picture.”

“We could just take a picture right now,” Steve pointed out. “Then you don’t have to buy a postcard.” If there was one thing Bucky loved, it was saving money.

Bucky’s brow wrinkled a little. “I have the money for a postcard,” he said. He sounded annoyed.

“Well—” Steve started.

“Anyway, it’s different,” Bucky pressed. “It’s just…never mind.”

“Explain it to me,” Steve pressed. “Please.”

Bucky shrugged, looking down at his feet. “That’s what you’re supposed to do. You see the tourist attraction. You go in and you buy a postcard. I’ve seen people do it. Normal people.”

“You’re normal,” Steve couldn’t help but say. Bucky finally met his eyes to give him the most disbelieving look ever.

“I’m not normal, Steve,” he said quietly. “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not normal.”

“Yeah, well, neither am I,” Steve said. If nothing else, it would make Bucky crack a joke about all Steve’s abnormalities.

“You’re not normal in a good way,” Bucky mumbled. “I’m…” He shook his head. Steve didn’t know what to do. He hated this feeling, this helpless roiling in his gut. He used to know exactly what Bucky needed, all the time. He used to be able to take one look at Bucky and know if he needed to fake an asthma attack to get him out of a date. But now he didn’t know anything.

Steve swallowed hard. He didn’t want Bucky to feel this way. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Can I take a picture?” Steve asked. “Of you with the falls? And then we’ll go get a postcard?”

Bucky didn’t say anything for a minute, and Steve worried he was going to snap about Steve humoring him. But finally he just shrugged, a little uptick stealing across his lips.

“Alright,” he said. “You wanna be a tourist, huh?”

“I wanna be a tourist,” Steve agreed, and then he let bravery guide his words. “I want a picture of two great world wonders.”

Bucky blinked, and then he scoffed, looking off to the side and smiling, and Steve snapped the picture. The falls were barely visible in the background. It was probably the best photo ever taken there.

 

“Okay,” Steve said, rubbing his hands together over the organic produce. “What should we get?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, almost sounding shy. “I like oranges.”

Steve gave him a look. “Okay, we can start with oranges, but it’s not like you can _live_ on oranges.”

“You want to bet?” Bucky asked, eyebrows raising challengingly.

Steve laughed. “No, I don’t. I can’t imagine what kind of havoc that would wreak on your digestive tract and we’re sharing a bathroom.”

Bucky snorted. “Like you haven’t already wreaked havoc on that bathroom.”

Steve squawked indignantly and Bucky laughed at him. “Wise guy,” Steve muttered, pretending he wasn’t grinning like it was his birthday.

“What about mushrooms?” Bucky asked.

“I hate mushrooms,” Steve groaned. “They’re fungus, you know that, right?”

“Probably grow between your toes,” Bucky said blithely, grabbing a package off the shelf. Steve laughed. Bucky was in a good mood.

They moved on to jarred pasta sauces and Bucky shook his head. “I am not eating the stuff that comes from a factory in a jar.”

Steve put his hands on his hips. This was ridiculous. There was paranoia, and then there was this. “You don’t really think they’d poison a whole batch of _pasta sauce_ just on the off-chance you’ll get some?” He asked incredulously. Bucky scowled at him.

“No, you fuckass, I think the kind I make tastes better.”

Steve gaped for a minute. “Fuckass?” He echoed. Bucky’s nostrils flared slightly, and Steve knew he was holding in laughter.

“Sure, fuckass,” he repeated. “’S a new insult.”

“You meant to say fucking ass and it turned into fuckass, didn’t you?”

“No, I meant to say fuckass,” Bucky declared stubbornly.

“Bucky, there is no way you meant to say fuckass.”

“Don’t tell me my business.” He was barely keeping his smile down and Steve broke first, cracking up laughing. Bucky huffed, pretending to be put upon about it. “Laughing at a guy’s insults. You born in a barn or something?”

“I’m not the one whose last name is _Barnes_.”

Now Bucky flat-out laughed. “That is the _worst_ come-back I’ve ever heard.”

“Is not,” Steve said intelligently.

“No, you’re right, that one was.”

Steve bumped into his back with the shopping cart and Bucky flipped him off without even turning around. Steve probably looked like an idiot, grinning so wide at the guy scowling over his shoulder at him, but he couldn’t help it.

He felt like they were nineteen again, arguing over what to eat for dinner and whose turn it was to cook, getting into fights mostly because they were bored and had nothing else to do, bickering good-naturedly until Becca threw her hands up and yelled,

“ _Ugh_ , would you two _shut up_ sometime today?”

They got back to their hotel, the kind with the kitchenette, and Steve had to admit Bucky’s pasta sauce was pretty incredible.

“When did you learn to make this?” Steve asked. Steve didn’t remember eating anything like this before the war, and certainly not while they were trudging through mud across Europe.

Bucky looked uncomfortable and focused on slurping up a few more noodles. Steve wrinkled his nose a little at the sound. “I don’t know,” Bucky finally said.

“You don’t know?” The question slipped out, incredulous, before Steve could stop to think about what that might mean. Bucky hunched his shoulders.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” he said, quiet where Steve was expecting defensive. It happened more and more these days—Bucky retreated where he used to push, Bucky went quiet where he used to argue.

“Oh,” Steve said. It was the only thing he could think to say. They were quiet for a minute, then he added, “Well, I’m glad you did.”

Just like that, Bucky was snorting, coughing around his spaghetti noodles as he laughed so hard Steve had to pound on his back.

“What’s so funny?” Steve asked.

“I probably learned to make this for some horrible reason, like to poison someone to death or something,” Bucky pointed out. “And you’re glad because it tastes good and you’re hungry.”

Steve twirled some noodles around his fork, thinking about how best to answer that. “Well, I can’t change the past,” he said. “But I can enjoy the present.”

“That was really deep,” Bucky said, laughing at him silently.

“I got it from Dr. Dove,” Steve admitted, and he didn’t hide the smile that stole across his face at Bucky’s laugh.

 

Steve stepped out of the room to call Sam. The wind was picking up, rustling the bush on the corner, and he poked around at the branches to make sure no one was hiding in it before getting back to the task at hand.

“How are the weary travelers?” Sam asked cheerfully. He sounded happier, and Steve had to push down the pit in his stomach. He’d worn Sam down, after months and months of living back-to-back the way they had. Part of him knew, really, that Sam loved him and would do anything for him, the same way he would for Sam, but it was hard to hear the marked difference in Sam’s voice and not feel guilty.

“Not too weary,” Steve forced himself to say, keeping his voice light. “Buck made pasta sauce tonight that was really good.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s good at that,” Sam said. Steve blinked.

“You’ve eaten his pasta sauce?”

“Yeah, you were out in, where was it? Iceland? When Fury called with the weird polar bears. Anyway, he was driving me crazy, wouldn’t sit still, wouldn’t quit goddamn following me from room to room, so I told him to make himself useful.”

“Before or after you slammed a few doors on his nose?” Steve asked automatically. Sam was a good person, one of the best, but he and Bucky had a…tumultuous friendship.

Sam laughed. “I didn’t slam _any_ doors on his nose.” He paused for a second. “I did lock him out on the balcony for a few minutes.”

Steve laughed, but his breath was threatening to stick in his throat. He hated when Bucky went on the balcony. He knew too well that Bucky could jump off and leave, vanish almost without a trace.

“You sound like you’re having a good time,” Steve said, hoping he didn’t sound too guilty or wistful. Sam saw right through him, of course.

“Steve, I’m not stuck in a little house hiding from cameras. I can go outside. I’ve got _wings_ here and I’m flying. Of course I’m gonna be happy. Okay? Don’t do that asshole thing where you take the whole world on your shoulders.”

“Asshole?” Steve asked. “How does caring about people make me an asshole?”

“Well, when you think _literally everything_ is your fault, it makes you pull out those sad puppy eyes, and then the rest of us have to deal with feeling like we’re the reason Captain America looks like a golden retriever who just got yelled at. Asshole.”

Steve huffed, halfway between laughing and being offended. “Why do people always call me a golden retriever?” He asked. “I don’t think that’s the dog that best represents me?”

“You _don’t_?” Sam said incredulously. “Please, tell me which dog you think is better.”

“Buck used to call me a poodle,” Steve admitted, cheeks heating up even though Sam couldn’t see him. “Smaller than everyone else but always barking.”

Sam was all-out _cackling_ in his ear, and Steve couldn’t help but laugh, too. He realized, with another little pang, that he and Sam hadn’t been laughing much lately, either, and he started to feel bad again before he remembered Sam’s warning not to be an asshole.

_“Sam, are you coming?”_ T’Challa said in the background. His voice sounded…low.

“Was that T’Challa?” Steve asked unnecessarily. He knew it was. T’Challa had a pretty distinct voice.

“Uh huh,” Sam said, then, muffled like he’d covered the phone with his hand, “Gimme two minutes, okay?” His voice was also…low. Steve did a mental calculation. It was nearly 10 pm in Wakanda.

“Are you _sleeping with T’Challa_?” Steve asked, nearly shrieking.

“Yeah,” Sam answered slowly, almost confused. “I told you that.”

“I thought—I thought you were kidding!” Steve’s whole face felt like it was on fire. “You’re not _really_ sleeping with him just because—to get—”

Now Sam laughed, and Steve’s face got even warmer. “No, Steve,” Sam assured him. “I am not sleeping with him to get advanced Wakandan technology and a safe-house.”

“ _You’re not?”_ T’Challa asked in the background, sounding amused. Steve wanted to cover his face with his hands.

“Is that why he’s letting us…?”

“No,” Sam said firmly. “Steve, that’s all separate. I’m just sleeping with him because he’s hot.”

_“Thank you_ ,” T’Challa said primly.

“When did this start?” Steve asked.

“When we were in Wakanda the first time.”

Steve paused for a minute. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Steve,” Sam said gently. “I don’t mean this in a bad way at all. Do not feel guilty. But…you really weren’t in a place for me to tell you.”

Sam could tell him not to feel guilty all he wanted, but guilt immediately coursed through Steve. There was no doubt Sam was right. Steve had been too wrapped up in Bucky, in getting Bucky back, in getting Bucky out of cryo. He had hardly spared two minutes for Sam when they were in Wakanda.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said in a small voice.

“No, Steve,” Sam insisted. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I know I could have talked to you about it.”

Steve still felt hollow, but he didn’t want Sam blaming himself. “Hey, I get it,” he tried to joke. “You were a little distracted.”

Sam laughed a little. “More than a little,” he leered.

“I don’t need to know that about T’Challa,” Steve said, actually joking this time.

“Don’t lie, you’re thinking about it now,” Sam teased. And then Steve started blushing again, because, well, Sam and T’Challa were both _very_ good-looking men.

“I—quit it!” Steve sputtered. Sam was cracking up, and it loosened the knot in Steve’s chest a little.

“Well, I’m going to go now,” Sam said. “I got a panther in my bed waiting for me.”

Steve groaned and heard T’Challa match it on the other line. _“Not that joke again.”_

“Okay. We’re going back to the falls again today,” Steve reported. “Not sure what we’re doing after.”

“Don’t disappear on me,” Sam warned.

“I promise we won’t.”

“Alright. Bye.”

“Bye,” Steve echoed. “Oh, Sam? I’m…I’m really happy for you. You sound happy.”

Steve could hear Sam’s grin. “Thanks, man.” Almost shyly, he added, “I am.”

Steve tapped his fingers against his phone for a minute after they hung up. He didn’t know quite what he was feeling. He hadn’t lied—he _was_ happy for Sam. Sam was one of the best people Steve knew, and he deserved someone who recognized that.

But Steve felt guilty for being so preoccupied that Sam couldn’t tell him, and that he hadn’t even noticed. Now that he thought about it, Sam _did_ talk to T’Challa quite a bit. Steve felt like a terrible friend.

And even worse, Steve felt…jealous, a little bit. Sam had T’Challa now, and Steve could admit he was a little worried Sam would stay in Wakanda and Steve wouldn’t get to see him anymore. And even under all _that_ , Steve was jealous because Sam had T’Challa and Steve…did not have Bucky.

He sighed and gave himself a little shake. They’d picked up more chocolates at the store, and the one Steve had last eaten had told him to **LIVE IN THE MOMENT**. It was good advice, he figured. He and Bucky were here to have a good time, and to show Bucky that they _did_ still know each other. That’s what he would focus on—not the little ball of loneliness in his stomach.

“Sam says hi,” Steve told Bucky when he got back to their room. Bucky was sprawled on his stomach, feet in the air kicking lightly, watching some children’s cartoon. He glanced over at Steve and frowned.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“What?” Steve asked, caught off guard.

“You’re upset about something.” Part of Steve rejoiced. Bucky, he noted smugly, could still tell when he was upset. He rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed.

“Sam and T’Challa are…” He licked his lips, not sure how to phrase it. “They’re—”

“Did they break off whatever they were doing before?” Bucky asked.

Steve stared at him. “You knew?” His lips felt numb. Even _Bucky_ knew?

Bucky shrugged. “He talked to T’Challa almost every night. Plus, when we left, I saw them kiss goodbye.”

“You didn’t—” _Tell me_. No, of course he hadn’t. Bucky hadn’t spoken for almost two full days after they removed the triggers. It had been hard on him in ways Steve didn’t understand and Bucky hadn’t communicated to him. And then, things had been so strange between them for so long.

“I didn’t know you didn’t know,” Bucky said. His body was tense, no longer laid out with ease as he ridiculed the show. He was…worried?

“I’m not mad,” Steve said. Bucky swallowed. “You thought I’d be mad at you?”

Bucky wasn’t meeting his eyes. “I don’t know.”

It reminded Steve of his answer about why he’d pulled Steve from the river. It left Steve frustrated. “That’s not a real answer.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “Well, sorry.”

Steve made an annoyed sound. “Why won’t you just _talk_? You used to never shut up, now it’s pulling teeth to get you to say good morning!”

“Because I’m sorry!” Bucky exploded. “Okay? All I can ever think about when I see you is how goddamn _sorry_ I am! I’m sorry I’m different now and I’m sorry I don’t remember everything and I’m sorry I almost killed you and I’m sorry you gave up everything for me. I’m sorry you thought I was worth it and I turned out not to be.”

His voice petered out at the end, and he was breathing hard. Steve couldn’t move. He was hardly breathing. It hurt, deep in his chest, to hear Bucky say he wasn’t worth it.

“Buck,” he managed to say. “You are.”

Bucky covered his face with his hand. “This is not what you thought you’d get if I came back.”

That was painfully true. Steve had pictured a lot of things, many of which were not exactly appropriate for sharing, but it was true that the two of them barely speaking, hardly making eye contact, had never made the list.

“No,” Steve agreed. “It’s not.”

Bucky’s shoulders slumped. He had to rest his whole upper body on the bed because he didn’t have another arm to take his weight. Bizarrely, that was what made Steve move. He sat down on the bed and put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“A lot of things aren’t what I thought they’d be,” he said, throat tight. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not what I want.”

Bucky leaned a little closer so his side was pushing against Steve. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am.” He moved his hand from Bucky’s shoulder to push through his hair. He’d always liked having his hair petted before. Steve didn’t know if he still did. Bucky’s breath hitched a little, but he pushed his head closer to Steve, so Steve took that as a yes. It felt like a win, and Steve would take even the smallest positive just then.

“Do you still want to go back to the waterfalls?” Steve asked softly. Bucky had been excited to go back, before all this. He’d looked up facts about them and where the water went and for a few minutes he’d seemed so much like his old self, the teenager back in Brooklyn, that it had been almost painful.

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, just as soft. “But can we just sit here for a little while?”

“Anything,” Steve promised. He meant it—anything in the world. And if all that meant at the moment was petting Bucky’s hair while they watched some kind of talking sponge make hamburgers, he could handle that.

 

There weren’t as many people when they went back to the waterfall that day. It took a few minutes before Steve remembered it was Monday; people were at work. People had day jobs that didn’t include hiding and only coming out when there was some kind of horrible emergency that needed tending. He used to be one of those people, a lifetime ago. Or two lifetimes ago; he wasn’t sure. There was a big group of little kids wearing matching shirts, a class trip maybe. They were paired off in twos, holding hands, and the sight of their little entwined fingers at the base of the torrential water made his stomach clench oddly.

“The annual average flow rate is 85,000 cubic feet per second,” Bucky murmured beside him. It made Steve jump a little bit. Bucky was just so quiet and still now, and it wasn’t like Steve forgot he was there, but sometimes he forgot Bucky would make noise.

“That’s…” Steve paused. “Well, I don’t really know what that means, practically,” he admitted. Bucky laughed.

“It’s a lot,” he assured Steve.

“I figured,” Steve said dryly, gesturing at the falls. Bucky had his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched up around his ears. “Are you cold?” Steve asked. There was a slight chill in the air, but nothing terrible. Bucky ran hotter than normal people, like Steve did, so he should’ve hardly be feeling it all. Bucky shook his head but didn’t offer up any other explanation.

They stood there, letting the spray rain down on them and the silence fill with the rush of the water, for almost half an hour. They didn’t talk, just stared up at the water and the rocks and the people milling around taking pictures.

“You want to go?” Steve finally asked. They didn’t really have anything else on their agenda—didn’t even _have_ an agenda—so it wouldn’t matter to him if Bucky wanted to stay.

“Sure,” Bucky said with a shrug. “But what are we going to do now?”

Steve stopped himself from saying the first thing—or, okay, maybe two or three things—he thought of. He shrugged back to buy himself some time and was seriously coming up empty. He was supposed to be impressing Bucky, showing him that they fit together, and his mind was completely blank of appropriate things they could do. He thought back to the day before.

“How about you teach me to make that sauce?” He blurted out.

“Really?” Bucky asked. He sounded almost…shy.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “It was really good, Buck.”

Bucky ducked his head, and he was _blushing_ a little bit. It was one of the most amazing sights Steve had ever seen. “Okay,” he murmured, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “Sure.”

Steve was giddy, even despite how miserable this was going to be. Bucky was horribly bossy. It came from having three little sisters, Steve was sure. Getting a lesson from Bucky in _anything_ was a sure-fire way to end up screaming at each other. Bucky was impatient and he’d always been too smart for his own good; he didn’t see why everyone else couldn’t just keep up with him. He also didn’t mind teasing his pupils mercilessly. Steve would never forgive him for the backpack full of rocks incident when he was training Steve in boxing back before the war.

They got back to their room and kicked off their shoes. Bucky pulled his sweatshirt off and Steve’s throat stuck a little when his shirt came up with it. He did his best not to stare, not to think about all the times he’d laid hands on that same skin, all the times he’d _pushed_ a shirt off those shoulders.

“Steve?” Bucky asked, an eyebrow raised.

Steve gulped. “Uh huh. Yeah.”

Bucky’s lips quirked, but he didn’t comment on how breathless Steve sounded. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Steve echoed, steadier this time. He held his breath for a minute to get it back under control. The kitchenette was small, small even for regular people but _very_ small for two larger-than-regular guys. The night before, when Bucky was making this, Steve had been video conferencing with Scott, Clint, and Wanda, which really meant he was being held hostage by Clint’s kids and some ridiculous story they’d absolutely _had_ to tell him _right away_. Occasionally he got a glimpse up someone’s nose and had to remind them to tip the camera back down.

In short, he had no idea what to expect. He knew—or he thought, anyway—cooking was not inherently impossible. You had instructions and you followed them. The problem, of course, was that Steve had never been very good at following instructions.

“It’s really easy,” Bucky assured him, probably reading the hesitation in his eyes. “Like, really easy. You guys make a big deal but it’s _really_ easy.”

“I feel like you saying that is going to make me feel worse if I mess up,” Steve pointed out. Bucky snorted.

“Chop the onions,” he ordered in lieu of massaging Steve’s ego. Steve set to work and as he held the knife in one hand and the onion in the other, he had a realization.

“How did you do this last night?” He asked, looking up at Bucky in time to see Bucky’s eyes skitter away.

“I can do it,” he said quietly.

“But how?” Steve pressed. “Isn’t it hard with one arm?”

Bucky huffed, and Steve wasn’t sure if he’d said something wrong. It wasn’t like it wasn’t _obvious_ Bucky only had one arm. Was it insensitive to point it out? He’d never had to worry about being insensitive to Bucky before. If he needed to, he’d teach himself, but it wouldn’t be easy after a lifetime of casual insults and pushing each other down flights of stairs.

“I adapt,” Bucky said simply. “You do what you gotta do.”

For some reason, it made Steve’s throat tight. Maybe if he’d been around more in the last few months, Bucky wouldn’t have felt like he had to adapt. Maybe if Steve hadn’t shoved his head so far up his ass he could hear his stomach Bucky would’ve just brought him these kinds of problems.

“You know I’m here to help, right?” Steve asked quietly. “Anything you need.”

Bucky sighed a little. “Sure,” he said. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, and Steve bit his lip to keep from prodding at him. “I just—” He paused again. “I _need_ to adapt,” he explained. “I can’t…I can’t just rely on other people to do things for me.”

Steve looked up at Bucky, mouth open a little. Bucky wrinkled his brow self-consciously and fiddled with the stove. “What?” He asked.

“I tried to get you to understand that for years,” Steve said. “And you _never_ got it. You wanted to do _everything_ for me.”

Annoyance flashed over Bucky’s face, but Steve could actually see him reign it in. “It’s not something that’s easy to understand if you’ve never…had to,” he defended himself.

“I know,” Steve said, because he really hadn’t been trying to blame Bucky for anything. “It’s just kind of ironic that we switched sides. Although _I_ won’t try to do everything for you and treat you like you’re helpless,” Steve added teasingly.

“I didn’t do everything for you because I thought you were _helpless_ ,” Bucky snapped. “I wanted to do everything for you because it was you. I just wanted to give you something because I—” He broke off and shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. Steve reeled a little.

He’d known, before the war, before Bucky fell, before everything went to hell, that Bucky loved him. How could he _not_ know, with everything they were to each other? But it hadn’t been something they ever talked about. It was always just there, unspoken because hashing it out wouldn’t change anything.

“Because you loved me?” Steve asked, voice low. His heart was pounding and he wasn’t even sure why. He knew that was the case. Why did it suddenly feel so important that Bucky admit it?

Bucky swallowed, but he squared his shoulders and nodded. “Yeah,” he admitted, his own voice sounding raspy with how serious he was. “Yeah, I loved you.”

Ten seconds ago, he felt like hearing that said out loud was the only thing on Earth he needed. Now…hearing it actually made his stomach sink.

_Loved_.

Past tense.

He nodded, and it took him a minute and a throat-clear before he could say, “Well, I loved you too.”

Bucky abandoned the stove to wrap his arm around himself, looking at Steve for a long minute. Steve couldn’t meet his eyes, for whatever reason. He was grateful the serum hadn’t made his eyes impervious to tearing up while cutting onions, because it gave him a reason for the tight feeling in his throat.

“Steve,” Bucky said softly.

“I’m almost done with the onions,” Steve told him gamely. Bucky came closer and pulled the knife out of Steve’s hands. Steve just stood there, stupidly, one hand still on the onion to keep it still while he chopped.

“I’m working on it,” Bucky said.

Steve huffed out what could have maybe passed for a laugh. “Glad to hear it takes such work to—”

Bucky put his hand on Steve’s hip and Steve snapped his mouth shut. “Stop,” Bucky said gently. “It’s not—I can’t just wake up and be the same, Steve. Do you get that? I know you think I’m the same guy, and maybe parts of me are. But I’m different in a lot of ways and it’s _work_ to figure out how it all…fits. And that means figuring out how I fit with you, too.”

Steve looked down at Bucky’s hand on his hip and nodded. It took him another beat to find his voice. “I’ll fit anywhere you want me.”

Bucky made a pained noise. “Don’t say that,” he said, and he sounded a little mad. “You’re not some—you don’t just take what you can get. Hear me? You deserve everything.”

_All I want is you_ , Steve didn’t say. _I don’t care about what I can get from anyone else as long as you’re here_. “Okay,” he said, because nothing else was going to make its way out of his mouth just then.

They stayed like that for a minute, Steve’s head down and Bucky’s hand on his hip, and then Bucky pulled him in closer, slid his hand from Steve’s hip to the back of his neck and pressed Steve’s face into his shoulder.

Steve’s arms came up immediately to wind around Bucky, one around his waist and one around his shoulders, and he held onto Bucky for dear life. Bucky was solid and warm and _alive_ and _here_ and Steve shuddered a little at the reminder, at the memory of all the days he lived when that wasn’t true.

“Sorry,” Steve said, muffed against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Shut up,” Bucky responded, and it made Steve laugh, clutching at Bucky’s shirt. After a few more breaths, Bucky pulled back and made Steve meet his eyes.

“Okay?” He asked.

“Okay,” Steve said. Bucky gave him a little half-smile, a sad sort of look that made Steve’s throat tighten a little bit.

“You gonna help me cut these onions or what?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Sure, Buck.”

“See if I can teach you anything,” Bucky said, jokingly exasperated. “You know what they say about old dogs and new tricks.”

“You’re older than me!” Steve argued reflexively.

“Yeah, and when was the last time I learned anything new?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said.

“Me neither,” Bucky said. “I can’t remember.”

There was a pause, and Steve glanced at Bucky from the corner of his eye, and at the same moment, they both cracked up laughing.

“Can’t believe you’re laughing at a guy with memory problems,” Bucky gasped out.

“You’re laughing!” Steve said indignantly, or as indignantly as he could while breathless with laughter.

“I’m allowed to laugh at _myself_ ,” Bucky pointed out.

“I’m not allowed to laugh at you?” Steve asked.

Bucky was still laughing, but his eyes softened a little. His laughter died down a bit. “Yeah, Steve,” he said. “You’re allowed.”

They weren’t laughing anymore, but Steve didn’t stop smiling for a long time.

 

“The next exit,” Bucky said, frowning a little at his phone. “I think. Hang on.”

“I can’t _hang on_ ,” Steve pointed out. “I either have to take the exit or not.”

“Just—” Bucky would have been flapping a hand, if he had a free one. He huffed, annoyed, and rested the phone on his thigh so he could use his hand to pull the map back. “No one can use _real_ maps these days,” he muttered. “So it won’t even show me—oh, there, okay, yeah, take the exit.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but he had enough time to do it, so he didn’t say anything. They’d been driving for two days straight now, stopping at roadside farm stands and paying cash for sweet corn and cherries and tomatoes they ate like apples, juice dribbling down their chins.

They stopped at small-town attractions, the kind of thing you didn’t hear about until you saw a freeway sign advertising it. They’d already seen a museum of wax Jesus statues—and Bucky had giggled the whole time about lighting a candle in there—in a small town in Ohio; what purported to be the world’s largest catsup bottle—“Why the _hell_?” Steve kept saying—in Illinois; and the Grotto of the Redemption—they were both awestruck and silent there thanks to all the sparkling rock and gems—in Iowa. Now they were pulling into a parking lot in Minnesota so they could see—

“World’s Largest Ball of Twine,” Steve read off the sign.

“Smaller than I expected,” Bucky noted. “For being the biggest in the world and all.”

“Well, how much competition do you think it has?” Steve reasoned.

“Good point.”

The twine was under a covered gazeebo, but there was a sign advising them to _take a whiff_. Bucky gave Steve a horrified look.

“Do not take a whiff,” he ordered. “It’s probably poisonous.”

“I don’t know if an airborne poison that’s clearly not killing any civilians could do much to me,” Steve pointed out. It was possible he was a bit smug about it, because Bucky rolled his eyes. There was a family having a picnic next to the sign. Steve and Bucky stood in silence for a minute.

“Well,” Bucky finally said conversationally. “That’s a lot of fucking twine.”

It made Steve laugh, hard. “Oh, so now you’re impressed?” He teased.

“Do you think it bounces?” Bucky asked curiously. “I mean, twine’s not the most bouncy—imagine if this thing was made of rubber bands!” His eyes were lighting up and Steve felt like his insides were melting. He tried to keep his face from going too dopey, but he wasn’t sure how well he succeeded. Bucky rolled his eyes a little, but his lips were twitching upward like he was fighting a smile, and his ears even went a little red.

“Are you blushing?” Steve asked as they headed to the souvenir stand.

“No,” Bucky denied quickly. But he was, and Steve couldn’t believe it. Bucky _never_ blushed. He always crowed about that fact, and about how easy it was to get Steve to blush.

“What are you blushing about?” Steve pressed, grinning.

“I’m not blushing!” Bucky protested. His brow was wrinkling a bit, so Steve let it go. They each bought a few mini balls of twine to add to their souvenir collection—they were amassing a pretty good little museum of weird roadside attractions. A few wax Jesus statues, some rocks, some Niagara Falls mugs, postcards, and fridge magnets. Bucky had stolen some of the tea and sugar packets from each hotel they’d stayed at along the way.

“If I was blushing,” Bucky murmured as they headed back to the car. “It would be because…because…” He paused and sneaked a quick look at Steve from the corner of his eye. “Because you smiled at me like that.”

Now Steve was blushing and he didn’t need anyone to tell him that. “Oh,” he said. “You…okay.”

Bucky huffed a little laugh at the way Steve was sputtering. He let his shoulder bump into Steve’s. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s find a hundred more world wonders.”

“There are only seven world wonders,” Steve reminded him. Bucky made a big show of raising an eyebrow and looking Steve up and down in a way that made Steve’s blush come back full-force.

“You sure about that?” He asked. It was a hint of the old Bucky, the smirk and the charm, and it almost made Steve’s throat get tight. But it was undercut by the redness around Bucky’s ears, the way he was darting glances at Steve and away again, the way he bit his lip after he said it. Bucky used to be confident to the point of cockiness, and he’d never been nervous with _Steve_. Seeing him anxious made something squirm in Steve’s chest. He couldn’t take Bucky being worried, especially not Bucky being worried about how Steve would react. He swallowed hard.

“Well, you know, I can think of, uh, one more that most people don’t know about,” Steve made himself say. He tried to be smooth, tried to think of how Sam would say the line, and did his best to keep his gaze steady on Bucky. He didn’t remember ever having to _flirt_ with Bucky before. He wasn’t sure he knew how.

Bucky ducked his head. The look he shot Steve made Steve’s breath catch in his throat. It was a familiar look, but not one he’d seen this century, and he’d long since given up expecting to see it again. It spurred him to bravery, and he reached for Bucky’s hand.

“Steve, you can’t hold my hand,” Bucky said.

“Oh.” Steve snatched his hand away immediately. “Sorry.”

“I’m holding the souvenirs,” Bucky told him. “And I only have one hand.”

Steve whipped his head around to look at Bucky. He was cracking up laughing. “Buck,” Steve said, exasperated but unable to keep himself from laughing, too. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Can you hold these?” Bucky asked, pushing the souvenir bag into one of Steve’s hands. “And this?” He put his hand in Steve’s other hand.

“Oh my God,” Steve laughed. “How long have you been waiting to do that?”

“A while,” Bucky admitted. He gave Steve’s hand a little squeeze. “It’s charming, right?”

Steve looked at the hopeful look on Bucky’s face and shook their clasped hands a little. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “So charming.”

 

They were in a hotel in South Dakota, off to see Mt. Rushmore in the morning, and they were bored and restless after so much driving. The TV wasn’t interesting and it was dark outside, and Steve could feel an argument brewing.

“Do you want to see if there’s a gym here?” He asked, hoping to stave it off. Bucky glanced through the welcome pack and nodded.

“Says there’s one by the lobby,” he reported. “But it’s probably just a treadmill or two and some weights.”

Steve shrugged. “Better than nothing. I’d run outside but—”

“You’re not running outside in the _dark_ in a place you don’t _know_ ,” Bucky cut him off. Steve rolled his eyes.

“But I don’t think you’ll let me,” he finished.

Bucky scoffed a little. “Let you? Like I have any power over you.”

Steve swallowed, and then he bit his lip and took a deep breath. “You have the most power over me,” he said quietly. Since their little flirting game in the parking lot in Minnesota, things had felt…different. Bucky had wolf-whistled when Steve came out of the shower, and they’d held hands when they stopped for lunch. But Steve still didn’t know what it meant, if it even meant anything. He knew what he _wanted_ it to mean, but Bucky had said he was working on it, and Steve didn’t know how long that was going to take.

Bucky looked up at him, but after a few seconds he still hadn’t said anything, so Steve dropped his eyes. “Anyway,” he said. “Let’s go find the gym.”

Bucky stood up, and Steve started to turn away to dig through his bag for something to wear. Bucky put a hand between Steve’s shoulder blades and Steve stopped, every muscle tightening up in surprise and hopeful anticipation.

“Steve,” Bucky said. His voice was low but it wasn’t the voice Steve recognized, the one that meant Bucky wanted him right then and there, so he turned around to check in. Bucky put his arm around Steve’s waist, drawing him in close. Bucky’s eyes were darting around everywhere—to Steve’s eyes, away from his face, over his shoulder, and back again. Steve was all but holding his breath.

“Yeah?” He croaked.

Bucky looked at him for another minute before leaning forward and pressing his lips to Steve’s. It was clumsy and a little awkward, less of a kiss and more of just bumping their mouths together. It was strange. Bucky used to—

Bucky opened his mouth, and Steve lost his train of thought.

“Buck,” he breathed, the sound lost into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky pulled him in tighter, biting at Steve’s bottom lip, and Steve made an embarrassing little noise that made Bucky start to laugh. They pulled apart, and Steve couldn’t help but feel a bit annoyed. But Bucky was laughing, leaning on Steve, so Steve’s narrowed eyes were mostly for show.

“Sorry,” Bucky said, trying to get his laughter under control. “It was just—” He imitated the noise and now Steve couldn’t help but laugh, either.

“I did not sound like that,” he said defensively.

“You did,” Bucky assured him. “But it’s okay.” He dipped back in, kissing Steve again, and Steve tangled his hands in Bucky’s long hair. Then it was _Bucky’s_ turn to make a breathy sound, but Steve couldn’t bother stopping to laugh about it. Steve moved down to Bucky’s neck, to the spot that always used to drive Bucky wild.

“No, no, not there,” Bucky said, cringing away from Steve’s lips. Steve paused. “Sorry,” Bucky said, not meeting Steve’s eye. “Sorry. Sorry. I just. Sorry.” He was breathing hard now, which would be gratifying if not for the little tremors going through him.

Part of Steve wanted to ask what the problem is, to point out that Bucky had _certainly_ never had a problem with it before. But he remembered what Bucky said about Steve comparing him, thought of the easy way they’d been laughing the last few days, considered the myriad reasons Bucky could have a problem with someone touching his neck.

“Okay,” Steve said, leaning in and kissing him on the lips again. “Not there. Where?”

Bucky stilled for a second. “Yeah?”

Steve wrinkled his brow. “What do you mean?”

“You still want…” Bucky shrugged, his shoulders staying hunched up by his ears. “I know that used to be what you did. With me.”

Steve was dumbstruck for a second. “Bucky, of course I still want you.”

Bucky looked away. “What if there’s more things we used to do I can’t do now?”

Steve digested that for a minute. A few memories of things they _used to do_ flashed through his head and he blinked a few times to clear them. Bucky was chewing at his lip nervously, his hand clenching into a fist over and over.

For most of the time Steve had been out of the ice, awake in this new world, he’d felt off-balance, confused, and stranded. But there was one thing he had never questioned in his life and _would_ never question.

“Buck,” he said. He took Bucky’s chin and tipped his head up so they were looking eye-to-eye. “I don’t care if we sit right there and you go through every single channel on the TV and don’t stop on anything but that horrible soap commercial fifteen times. I just want you.”

Bucky shook his head. “That commercial is cute.”

Steve laughed, throat feeling tight. “Okay.”

Bucky leaned in and rested his head in the crook of Steve’s neck. “Thanks.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” Steve murmured. “I should be thanking you.”

Bucky snorted, but luckily he didn’t argue any further. He was snuffling along Steve’s collar now, a familiar feeling made unfamiliar by the rasp of his beard and the tickle of his long hair, but nothing could have made Steve squirm away.

“I want to go to the gym,” Bucky said, voice quiet and right next to Steve’s ear.

“Okay,” Steve said. Part of him felt a _tiny_ bit disappointed—he’d thought they were heading some pretty good places, just a minute ago—but it wasn’t substantial. Anywhere was a good place with Bucky.

They slept curled up together that night, and Bucky was a little shy again as they got into bed, a tiny crease of worry between his eyebrows, so Steve didn’t even kiss him. He could tell Bucky was nervous, like Steve was going to push his luck, and Steve would’ve rather died than give substance to those fears.

“Night, Buck,” Steve murmured, nuzzling his cheek along the back of Bucky’s neck. He felt Bucky’s muscles relax as he realized Steve was just cuddling up.

“Goodnight,” he responded, and Steve didn’t need to see him to hear the little half-smile on his face.

 

“Well, there it is,” Steve said, squinting up into the sunshine at the rock face in front of them. “The presidents.”

“The presidents,” Bucky echoed, laughing a little. He had his arm around Steve’s waist and their hips were pressed together. There weren’t too many tourists out; it wasn’t quite the season yet, but there were a few brave families. Though the sun was out, there was still a bit of snow hanging around, mostly just slush at that point.

“Bet I could climb Roosevelt faster than you could,” Bucky said.

“All these years,” Steve said, shaking his head. “Never knew you wanted to climb Roosevelt.”

Bucky busted up laughing, a happy sound that made Steve grin automatically. “I think it’s the mustache,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows around.

“Does that mean you’ve thought about Dugan?”

Bucky pulled a face, horrified. “No!” He insisted. “Now you’re just being foul.”

Steve laughed, loud. “He’s the first person who comes to mind when I think of mustaches.”

“His is definitely noteworthy,” Bucky agreed. The levity left his face. “Was.”

Steve slipped his arm around Bucky’s waist, too, and gave him a little squeeze. “Took me a while to get used to saying that.”

Bucky breathed out through his nose. “Does it get easier?”

Steve shrugged, thinking of the look on Peggy’s face each time she remembered him halfway through a conversation, thinking of nights he woke up in the middle of the night expecting canvas above him and the sound of the boys around him, thinking of the way he went two years without saying Bucky’s name out loud because it hurt too much.

“Not really,” he admitted. “Sam says it will, eventually.”

If they were talking about any other subject, probably, Bucky would’ve snorted, would’ve said something about _oh, what does he know_ just to be contrary. But Bucky knew what Sam knew on the subject, had even seen a bad night of Sam’s once, and all their playful animosity evaporated in the face of that.

“Hope so,” Bucky murmured instead.

“Me too.”

They stood in silence for a minute, looking up at the rocks. “It _is_ pretty impressive,” Bucky admitted. “That they could carve all that.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Too bad they had to steal the land for it, though.”

There was a beat of quiet, and then Bucky laughed a little, twisting and dropping his forehead down to _thunk_ against Steve’s collarbone. “You know, it’s comforting,” Bucky told him conversationally. “No matter what body you’re in, some things never change.”

Steve smoothed Bucky’s hair down a bit. “You’re right,” he said softly. “Some things never do.”

He wasn’t talking about his morals, necessarily, and from the way Bucky bit his lip and smiled, just a bit, Steve got the feeling he knew.

 

They were heading back down to the parking lot, supplied with their souvenirs and arguing over what to eat for dinner—Bucky thought they could just eat protein bars, but Steve wanted something _real_ , a sandwich, at least—when Bucky froze.

“Buck?”

“It’s just me,” Sam called. He was leaning against the bumper of their car.

“Sam!” Steve couldn’t help but call out happily. He’d never gone so long without seeing Sam. He jumped forward to give Sam a hug. “How was Wakanda? How was—I mean—T’Challa’s…?”

Sam and Bucky both shook their heads at him, but they were wearing matching fond smiles that made Steve’s heart squeeze a little in his chest. They’d never admit to agreeing on anything, but he could admit he was pretty happy to be the one thing they _did_ agree on.

“T’Challa’s great,” Sam said, a dreamy little look overtaking his face. Bucky laughed right out loud at him and Sam kicked at Bucky’s ankle.

“We’re heading to the Grand Canyon,” Steve offered. “You here to come with?”

Bucky huffed loudly, but Steve could see right through him and his pretend annoyance. Bucky wouldn’t be offended if Sam came, not at all. But Sam shook his head, and a he sort of winced, a regretful look, and Steve realized what was going on.

“Fury called?” He guessed.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I’m sorry, man. I told him you were busy, but…well, I guess we really need all hands on deck for this one.” He dropped his voice a little. “Stark called for backup.”

Steve’s lip curled a bit at the mention of Tony—sure, he’d sort of apologized to the man, and he _did_ care what happened to him, but it had taken weeks for Sam’s bruises to fade from whatever the hell had gone on in that prison, and _nothing_ could wipe out what Tony had done to Bucky. What Tony had _tried_ to do to Bucky.

“He called you back from Wakanda?” Bucky broke in.

Sam shrugged. “Yeah.” He was trying to keep a brave face on, but it wasn’t hard to see through. He was sad about leaving T’Challa.

“You didn’t have to come,” Steve reminded him quietly.

“Yeah, well.” Sam shrugged again. “I made a few promises.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped a little. Sure, he wanted Sam with him, but more than that, he wanted Sam _happy._ If that meant staying in Wakanda and not following Steve around getting shot at, Steve would handle that. “You don’t have to—”

“Shut up, Steve,” Bucky interrupted him. Steve gaped a little. “The promises weren’t to you. They were to himself.”

Sam raised his eyebrows a little. “Well, someone’s got some experience in this arena.”

“Too much,” Bucky agreed, and then the two of them were sharing that long-suffering look again that left Steve feeling all strange and off-balance.

“Anyway,” Sam said. “We can get a different car to go respond. Barnes, you can drive, can’t you?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “But I’m coming with you.”

Steve whipped his head around to stare at Bucky. Bucky had _never_ come on a mission, not once since he came out of cryo and had his triggers removed. Steve had never even asked, really. He didn’t _want_ Bucky to come.

“Buck, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up, Steve,” Sam cut him off, smiling faintly. “We could use the help. All hands on deck.”

“’S too bad I only got one,” Bucky joked. Sam snorted and rolled his eyes.

“How long’ve you been saving that one?”

“Bucky,” Steve said firmly. “We haven’t even talked about this. What if—well. You can’t shoot with one arm, can you?”

“Yes, I fucking can,” Bucky told him, indignant. “I’ve done it before.”

And Steve couldn’t breathe for a second, couldn’t think around the way his chest was seizing up. He didn’t know when Bucky had shot with only one arm. He didn’t know how Bucky was going to react to fighting again, or what Tony would do when he saw Bucky. What would _Steve_ do if he saw Tony looking at Bucky wrong? What if Bucky got _hurt_?

“Hey,” Bucky said, stepping in closer. He put his hand on Steve’s chest. “Listen to me, alright? It’s been months. I’m ready to start pulling my weight.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve squawked. It was apparently all he could say to anyone at this point.

Bucky tipped his head. “I do, though.”

“You didn’t choose any of that!” Steve burst out.

“No,” Bucky said. “But I did it, Steve. I remember doing it. And I’d like to make it better.” He met Steve’s eyes. “What are you really afraid of?”

Steve’s first instinct was to bluster, to brush off the question by protesting his own fear. But Bucky knew him too well, even now, for that to work. “I can’t lose you again,” he whispered.

“You won’t,” Bucky promised. “This time, if I fall I’m taking you with me.” Steve’s mouth dropped open in surprise, and Bucky laughed at him. “Come on, Steve,” Bucky murmured. “Hey. I’m pretty good at what I do. Not to brag or nothing, but I’m sort of the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve mumbled.

“You forget,” Bucky went on, voice still soft. Steve didn’t even know what Sam was doing; he felt a little guilty for this private moment they were having right out in public, but it couldn’t really be helped. “Every time you leave I gotta worry the same thing. Might as well go together and watch each other’s’ backs. We got time now.”

Steve still wanted to protest, wanted to wrap Bucky in bubble-wrap and hide him in a bullet-proof room somewhere, but he could see determination all over Bucky’s face. Steve didn’t lose many arguments—refused to _back down_ , mostly—but he could see he’d lost this one. A little part of him was doing cartwheels. No more leaving Bucky. No more wondering if Bucky would still be there when he got back. Cap and Bucky, fighting together again.

He could do better this time. He could fix it. He could protect Bucky.

“Okay,” he relented, though it didn’t much matter if he agreed or not. Bucky was a free man, could make his choices and go straight to Fury if he wanted.

“Thanks,” Bucky humored him, and then he darted in and gave Steve a sweet little kiss. It still left him a little dizzy. They had their history, their tragic story, all the years and feelings between them, but this right now was still new and exciting.

“Are you guys gonna make out right here in this parking lot?” Sam asked, sounding bored. Steve could see on his face he was happy for them.

“Why, you wanna join?” Bucky shot back. Sam laughed, but he made a face.

“Please,” he said. “Why waste my time and charms on two fugitives when I got me a king waiting?”

“Hey, that ain’t fair,” Steve protested. “Just because we’re a democracy.”

Sam rolled his eyes, unimpressed, while Steve unlocked the car door and let him throw his bag in the trunk. As they pulled out—Sam in front, because he’d called shotgun again, to Bucky’s intense aggravation—Sam looked chagrined.

“I’m sorry you don’t get to go to the Grand Canyon,” he said, and he was being completely serious. “I know you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” Steve said with a shrug, meeting Bucky’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Bucky was pulling knives out of various parts of his clothes and the car, checking over what he already had on hand and cursing what he’d left behind.

“Yeah?” Sam checked. He was asking about a lot more than just the Grand Canyon, Steve knew. He thought over the last week, the false starts and the awkwardness and the thaw, the way things were finally starting to make sense again, even if it was a different kind of sense than what he was used to and what he’d expected.

He thought about Bucky cringing away from Steve’s lips on his neck and the sweet way he’d wrapped his arm around Steve so they’d looked like just any other couple at a national monument, and how Bucky wouldn’t back down and still, even after everything, wanted to protect Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve said softly, smiling a bit. “We got time.”

**Author's Note:**

> I debated tagging the T'Challa/Sam since it's so minor and background, but I went with it. I love T'Challa/Sam and I am GOING to write some now that I've finished this fic!


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